Miss Herbert’s venture, like so many other ventures planned on an intellectual basis, did not flourish exceedingly; and in the course of the years that followed we find our actor appearing rather fitfully at various London theatres, which at this time, before the great revival of the stage, were in rather an unsettled state. He went with Sothern to play in Paris, appearing at the Théâtre des Italiens, and in December, 1867, found an engagement at the Queen’s Theatre in Long Acre, a sort of “converted” concert-room, where nothing seemed to thrive; and here for the first time he played with Miss Ellen Terry, in ‘Catherine and Petruchio’ (a piece it might be well worth while to revive at the Lyceum); and in that very effective drama, ‘Dearer than Life,’ with Brough and Toole; in ‘The School for Scandal’; also making a striking effect in ‘Bill Sikes.’ I fancy this character, though somewhat discounted by Dubosc, would, if revived, add to his reputation. We find him also performing the lugubrious Falkland in ‘The Rivals.’ He also played Redburn in the highly popular ‘Lancashire Lass,’ which “ran” for many months. At the Queen’s Theatre he remained for over a year, not making any marked advance in his profession, owing to the lack of favourable opportunities. He had a part in Watts Phillips’ drama of ‘Not Guilty.’ Then, in 1869, he came to the Haymarket, and had an engagement at Drury Lane in Boucicault’s ‘Formosa,’ a piece that gave rise to much excited discussion on the ground of the “moralities.” His part was, however, colourless, being little more than a cardboard figure: anything fuller or rounder would have been lost on so huge a stage. It was performed, or “ran,” for over a hundred nights. With his sensitive, impressionable nature the performance of so barren a character must have been positive pain: his dramatic soul lay blank and fallow during the whole of that unhappy time. Not very much ground had been gained beyond the reputation of a sound and useful performer. Relying on my own personal impressions—for I followed him from the beginning of his course—I should say that the first distinct effort that left prominent and distinct impression was his performance at the Gaiety Theatre, in December, 1869, of the cold, pompous Mr. Chenevix, in Byron’s ‘Uncle Dick’s Darling.’ It was felt at once, as I then felt, that here was a rich original creation, a figure that lingered in the memory, and which you followed, as it moved, with interest and pleasure. There was a surprising finish and reserve. It was agreed that we had now an actor of _genre_, who had the power of creating a character. The impression made was really remarkable, and this specimen of good, pure comedy was set off by the pathetic acting of “friend Toole,” who played ‘Uncle Dick.’ This was a turning-point in his career, and no doubt led to an important advance. But these days of uncertainty were now to close. I can recall